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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271934">yellow fever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites'>killerqueenwrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>family business – supernatural au [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Rhodey, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Monster of the Week, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:21:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dude!”</p><p>Tony wheezes.</p><p>“What the hell?”</p><p>“That was…” He waves a hand. “That was scary.”</p><p>or, investigating a series of heart-attack deaths seemed like a great idea at the time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>family business – supernatural au [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>yellow fever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts">blondsak</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/gifts">madasthesea</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostInTheBAU/gifts">GhostInTheBAU</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i’m dedicating this to blondsak, madasthesea and ghostinthebau. your support on here and tumblr definitely kept me going through my brain cells taking a hike to writers block land whenever i so much as thought about this story.</p><p>i have no excuse. it's been months. i abandoned my boy. please accept 9k words as an apology. thank you to everyone who discovered this series in the interim, and everyone who left wonderful comments 💕 </p><p>usual warnings for guns, discussions of death, language</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay,” Tony decides after he floors Peter for the fifth time in a row with almost no effort. “I’m calling it there. It’s like you <em>want </em>to be my punchbag, or something. You’re the one that’s supposed to be improving here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Peter mutters, but he doesn’t make any attempt to get up.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh. Sure. I’m not even gonna start first aid, although we probably need to get on that soon. CPR is gonna be useful if I get myself into another situation like the last one.” Tony winces at the not-quite-memory: Peter sobbing, Rhodey pounding his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I know CPR,” Peter argues. “I learned it in, like, middle school.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, <em>no</em>. We’re not counting that.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter shrugs, still lying on the training mat.</p><p> </p><p>“You staying down there all day? ‘Cause if you are, I’m joining you.”</p><p> </p><p>Another shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” Tony plops down beside him, wincing; dying really did nothing for his body. “Come on, kid. What’s got you in your head?”</p><p> </p><p>“Miss May,” the kid finally mumbles. “‘S’nearly my birthday – first one without her, you know? I keep thinking I’m fine, and then it just…hits me.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony is officially the worst unofficial pseudo-father in the history of the world. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I know it sucks. We don’t have to make it a big thing if you don’t want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm.”</p><p> </p><p>“But still: sixteen. We can also absolutely make it a big thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, about that…” Peter sits up, his gaze fixed on the floor. “My friends from home – Queens, I mean – Ned and MJ.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“They were asking if I wanted to go back for that weekend. Like, Ned’s parents have offered to take us all out for dinner. I just…haven’t seen them since…you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“You wanna go? Go,” Tony says gently.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure?” Peter chews his lip, eyes wide. “I don’t have to go – I can–“</p><p> </p><p>“Pete,” Tony says. “There is nothing I want more than for you to be a kid. Go, okay? We’ll do presents on the Friday morning, and drop you off at the bus station after breakfast. Sound good?”</p><p> </p><p>“You guys are getting me presents?”</p><p> </p><p>“Duh, kid. Sixteen! Big birthday. You’re family, you know that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s smile gets impossibly wider and he darts forward to pull Tony into a hug. “Thanks, Mr Stark. Love you.” Then he’s bounding up the stairs, leaving a stunned Tony in his wake.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Love you, too, kid.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On the morning of August tenth, Tony gets up early. On purpose.</p><p> </p><p>He stumbles down to the kitchen and makes himself a coffee before he does anything else, and then spends a good five minutes staring at the instructions on the pancake box, desperately willing his brain to compute it. It takes him even longer to remember that they don’t have any chocolate chips and resorts to banging a chocolate bar against the counter, at which point Rhodey appears halfway down the stairs with a confused glare.</p><p> </p><p>“Tryna make breakfast,” is all Tony can offer him.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” Rhodey shakes his head with a fond grin. “Stand back, you idiot. Drink your coffee. Lay the table. I got this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, fine.” Tony steps back, lets Rhodey start mixing the batter. “Sixteen, you know? Gotta be special.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. You’re doing good, man. You’re good at this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Tony mumbles. “What happened to ‘try not to get too close to him’?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey nods. “Then I guess we have to save him.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Peter finally gets up and wanders downstairs, yawning so wide his eyes scrunch up at the corners, Rhodey has made a considerable amount of pancakes and Tony’s set out their places at the table, including Peter’s presents.</p><p> </p><p>“Afternoon,” Tony grins.</p><p> </p><p>“…hi.”</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday, kid.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s smile is blinding. “You made pancakes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Rhodey made pancakes. I made coffee.”</p><p> </p><p>“Both is good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday, kiddo.” Rhodey adds a final pancake to the pile. “Go on, help yourself. Also: presents.”</p><p> </p><p>“Awesome! Thank you!” Peter bounds down the rest of the stairs and takes his seat. Tony grins, stacking a couple of pancakes onto his plate. “This is so cool, Mr Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, we’re too old to get excited about birthdays anymore. We’re enjoying this just as much as you are.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter snorts and shovels a pile of pancake into his mouth. “Oh, these are good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Homemade chocolate chips,” Rhodey says, sending a smirk in Tony’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>Peter just nods in understanding. “Use a rolling pin next time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kid, we barely have a wooden spoon in this place.”</p><p> </p><p>Another snort. Peter finishes his first two pancakes and picks up one of his presents. “Why does this feel heavy and sharp?”</p><p> </p><p>“Perceptive. Be careful opening it.”</p><p> </p><p>The kid manages to get into his present without slicing his fingers off, and balances the two knives, one in each hand. “Cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you hate guns,” Tony says, even though Peter’s never explained exactly why, “and I wanted you to have a better weapon than those shitty knives in the training room. Tried to get them balanced for you, as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re awesome,” Peter breathes, running his fingers over the leather sheaths, the ribbed handles. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, no worries. Need you armed out there. That’s not to say you won’t have to fire a gun sometimes, but this can be your main thing.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey ruffles Peter’s hair. “You can start training with these from now on, get used to ‘em.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Cool’, he says. We give him knives and he says ‘cool’.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony smirks. “Au contraire, honeybear. I think ‘cool’ is a perfectly normal sixteen-year-old response to being gifted dangerous weapons.”</p><p> </p><p>“You had to let him open that one first, didn’t you? The next one is gonna look boring.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter picks it up. “Feels like homework.”</p><p> </p><p>“See?” Rhodey says.</p><p> </p><p>Peter looks thrilled with the present anyway, some old lore books that Rhodey had bought from an old friend, already annotated. “Uhh,” he says, “these aren’t gonna say ‘This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince’ inside the cover, is it?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony blinks, stares. “Uh-huh. Let’s pretend we understood that reference. You’re so funny. Congratulations.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your third present to me can be a <em>Harry Potter </em>marathon,” Peter says, no room for argument.</p><p> </p><p>Tony argues anyway. “Eight movies, kid? Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Rhodey told me if I hadn’t called that thing in Danbury – you know, the <em>shtriga </em>– a Dementor, you wouldn’t have–“</p><p> </p><p>“Yep, let’s not think about that,” Tony says sharply. “<em>Ever</em>. I don’t have the time in my life to watch eight movies, kid. Speaking of time, you need to hustle if we’re getting you on the earlier bus. Quick, take your breakfast upstairs.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir!” Peter says, complete with a dramatic salute, and grabs his plate before darting up the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>“Little shit!” Tony shoots after him, and laughter floats down into the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey snorts.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“‘I can’t be a father’,” Rhodey says. “Sound familiar? Look at you now, man.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony ignores him and moves to start clearing the table, which doesn’t really help his case in the slightest.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You sure you got everything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Mr Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“Charger, cell phone, change of clothes, toiletries, money–“</p><p> </p><p>“It’s only a weekend, Mr Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Mr Stark sighs, leaning back on the car and squinting against the sun. “Gonna be quiet in the house for once.”</p><p> </p><p>“You could watch <em>Harry Potter</em>,” Peter suggests, and flashes an innocent smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Bold words from someone who needs to be picked up from here on Sunday.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey laughs. A bus pulls into one of the bays behind them.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s my bus,” Peter says, tugging on his backpack straps. “I’d better go. Thank you for breakfast, it was great. And thanks for my knives – that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome, kid,” Rhodey says with a grin. “And hey, sixteen! When you get back, we can go for a little test drive.”</p><p> </p><p>“For real?” Peter can’t hide his excitement.</p><p> </p><p>“Yep.”</p><p> </p><p>“Awesome, thank you!”</p><p> </p><p>Mr Stark shakes his head. “C’mon, kid. Not to get rid of you or anything, but time to get on the bus.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, yeah.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“See you in a couple of days.” Mr Stark leans forward suddenly and presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Peter says, a little dazed, a little amused at the way Rhodey’s jaw just dropped. “Um, see you Sunday.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Don’t say a word,” Tony warns as they watch the bus drive away.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not a peep.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m quite happy to let you walk home.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not gonna make fun of you,” Rhodey says.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s your default setting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but now…I’m actually proud of you, man.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually. You’re <em>actually </em>proud. No need to sound so surprised, honeybear.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re doing good. I mean it.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony nods, taps his fingers on the steering wheel. The weekend stretches out ahead of him, empty, boring: no training with the kid, no scrolling through their phones on the couch together, no eating takeout. “Hey, you want to start watching <em>Harry Potter</em>?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Peter! Happy birthday!”</p><p> </p><p>Peter nearly drops his bags with how quickly he rushes to meet Ned, grabbing his friend in a tight hug. “Hey, man!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, dude, it’s been ages!”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Peter squeezes his eyes shut. “I missed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You feel jacked,” Ned mumbles. “Did you join a gym or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, kinda. The guys that fostered me are really into exercise. And stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God, tell me about them.” Ned takes one of Peter’s bags as they start towards the parking lot.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, they’re cool. Technically, only one is legally my guardian, and the other’s like a cool uncle. They home-school me and sometimes let me help with their work.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do they do?”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re…detectives. Kinda.”</p><p> </p><p>“So cool,” Ned breathes. “Are you…okay, though? You’re happy? Because you know my mom would adopt you in a heartbeat if–“</p><p> </p><p>“I love it,” Peter says. “I love them. Don’t worry, man.”</p><p> </p><p>“It just seemed like it happened so fast…like, after May and everything – it was like you disappeared right after the funeral.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Peter says quietly, “but I’m doing good. Promise.”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you, but wait until you see MJ. Pretty sure she has her questions on an alphabetised list.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that sounds about right.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The house is quiet. Too quiet. Tony never thought he’d grow to miss Peter’s endless chattering, but now he feels like he’s lost a limb.</p><p> </p><p>Christ, this is pathetic. It’s been five hours, and he’s already scouring the Internet, looking for a case. Something quick, preferably. Something that they can wrap up before Peter gets home on Sunday evening.</p><p> </p><p>“Rhodey?” he calls, and waits a few seconds. “Rhodey!”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I found a case!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s – are you serious?” Rhodey appears from down the hall. “We don’t have time for a case, dumbass. We need to pick Peter up Sunday evening, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just a quick one. Easy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh. Haven’t you learned your lesson about quick, easy cases?”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on. Salt and burn. That’s it, I swear.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. “Hit me.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ned’s parents are thrilled to see him, and Peter feels a sudden pang of nostalgia for <em>before</em>, when he could come over for a sleepover any weekend he wanted and they’d welcome him like family. Ned’s mom asks a couple of probing questions, barely hiding her concern, but Peter’s wide smile whenever he talks about Mr Stark and Rhodey seems to reassure her.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop hogging my friend,” Ned grumbles, and drags Peter into his bedroom. It hasn’t changed in the slightest, and the nostalgia hits again.</p><p> </p><p>Peter dumps his backpack by the bed. “So, we’re going for dinner, right? Do I need to change?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, we’re going to that Italian place a couple of blocks down. Super casual.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool.” Peter’s halfway through a text to Mr Stark, telling him he got to Ned’s fine, when Ned clears his throat. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know we can’t build it now because you’ll have to take it back with you, but…”</p><p> </p><p>Peter looks up to see Ned holding out a wrapped rectangular box, a wide smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude!”</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday, man.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter takes the box and eagerly tears into the wrapping paper; each movement sets the box rattling, and he knows exactly what’s inside.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not just any Lego, though. It’s the new Lego Star Destroyer, the one that’s only been out a couple of weeks. Peter hadn’t wanted to ask for it yet, even though Mr Stark never seems short of money.</p><p> </p><p>“Ned, this is…awesome, man. Thank you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>“No problem,” Ned says, “and maybe I could come visit you upstate, and we could build it then?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter tries to imagine Ned in his new home, where Rhodey tells Mr Stark off for cleaning his guns at the table, where the basement is basically a boxing gym with extra knives, where they keep rifles and wooden stakes in the umbrella stand, where the library is full of books about monsters and demons and magic. Despite his best efforts, he can’t; Ned doesn’t belong in that world, and Peter doesn’t want him to. He manages a smile anyway. “Yeah. That’d be good.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Still don’t get it,” Rhodey says, even though he’s been staring at the news story on his phone for the past hour. “Men entering the later stages of their life are dying of heart attacks. Hardly breaking news.”</p><p> </p><p>“Six of them? In the same small town?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fifty thousand people is hardly small.”</p><p> </p><p>“In the space of a week, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“That is strange,” Rhodey agrees. “I was promised a salt and burn, Tones.”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, six deaths with exactly the same MO? It has to be a ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>“…no, it doesn’t. It could be literally anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“But the likelihood is it’s a ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just say you were bored without the kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“You miss the kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“…maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey groans, long and frustrated. “You’re killing me, man. What IDs do you want?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to look at the bodies and the autopsies, so Feds.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hello again, Francis Watson and James Crick.” Rhodey fishes the badges out of the glove compartment. “Hey, last time we used these, we ended up with a kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“And we’re stopping at one,” Tony says firmly.</p><p> </p><p>“Just saying. I think we do a pretty good job of parenting, though, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, if exposing our kid to supernatural horrors and training him in the use of lethal force is good parenting.”</p><p> </p><p>“We also make pretty good pancakes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” Tony can’t help but laugh. “We do good pancakes. Parenting one-oh-one.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong> <em>Peter</em> </strong> <em>: hey, sorry i forgot to text earlier but i’m alive. omw to get pizza! :D</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Gross,” Rhodey says for the tenth time in as many minutes, flicking through the autopsy report of the man stretched out in front of them. “You planning on helping any time soon?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Tony says around a mouthful of blueberries. “I think you got it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Asshole,” Rhodey mutters. “Why are you eating? <em>How </em>are you even eating? Dead fucking body.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s dead, he doesn’t care.” Tony offers the box. “Blueberry?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re real fucking chirpy all of a sudden.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was bored. Now I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>“The kid’s gonna laugh his ass off when I tell him you couldn’t last five minutes without him yapping in your ear.” Rhodey looks from the body to the file and frowns. “Huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Guy number six also had no underlying health problems. Just – boom. Heart attack out of nowhere, like all the others.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony flashes him a grin. “Do you believe me now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Starting to. Still not sure it’s a ghost, though, but I’m coming up short on what else it might be.” Rhodey puts the file down and lifts the body’s left arm. “Put your snack down and come look at this.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s ‘this’?”</p><p> </p><p>“They all have these weird markings on their arms. Like splinters.”</p><p> </p><p>“Woodchips,” Tony agrees, leaning over the corpse. “Where’d he work? If it was at that sawmill we passed on the way in, that might explain it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not likely, it’s abandoned. No, we got manager in an office, partner in a law firm, business owner, cop, et cetera. All high-paying or powerful jobs. Ah, except number six, actually. Self-employed. Worked from home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so tomorrow we go around all their jobs, get a little bit of background.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds good. And number six?”</p><p> </p><p>“Neighbours, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right.” Rhodey slides the guy back into his compartment. “Let’s call it a night, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony thanks the coroner as they leave and checks his phone for the first time in hours.</p><p> </p><p><strong> <em>Peter</em> </strong> <em>: hey, sorry i forgot to text earlier but i’m alive. omw to get pizza! :D</em></p><p> </p><p>“Kid good?” Rhodey asks once they’re in the car.</p><p> </p><p>“Kid’s fine. Still sending me smiley faces at every opportunity.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><strong> <em>Tony</em> </strong> <em>: Don’t tell your friend’s parents you live off pizza already. You’ll make me look bad.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><strong> <em>Peter</em> </strong> <em>: :p</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><strong> <em>Peter</em> </strong> <em>: wait mj saw that text she’s going to interrogate me rip</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“So, you’re really standing there trying to tell me that if we cut you open, you wouldn’t bleed cheese and tomato sauce?”</p><p> </p><p>“No comment,” Peter says, “and I’m not standing. I’m walking.”</p><p> </p><p>MJ punches him in the arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Ow.” They’re walking down the block, not at any speed, but still faster than Ned’s parents.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s just concerned about proper nutrition, Peter,” Ned says. “We’re growing boys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if it makes you feel better, sometimes we get Chinese or Thai. Indian, if we’re feeling really wild.”</p><p> </p><p>MJ snorts. “Do they ever cook?”</p><p> </p><p>“They made me pancakes this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s so adorable I might die,” Ned says. “Chocolate chip?”</p><p> </p><p>“Chocolate chip.”</p><p> </p><p>“You guys can afford to get takeout, like, every night?” MJ interrupts. “What do they do?”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re detectives, right, Peter?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, like PIs?”</p><p> </p><p><em>That works</em>. “Yeah. Yeah, kinda.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” MJ says, but leaves it alone. Ned spends the rest of the walk babbling about the latest <em>Star Wars </em>– it’s out on DVD. Did Peter get it? Has he seen the special features?</p><p> </p><p>No, he hasn’t. He’s been spending a worrying amount of time in hospitals lately, and when he’s not, he’s probably fighting monsters.</p><p> </p><p>“All right,” MJ says. “There’s my mom. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, not too early.”</p><p> </p><p>“Night.”</p><p> </p><p>“See you.” The mundanity of the situation hits Peter suddenly hits, the normality. It feels…weird. He’s not a normal teenager anymore. He never will be again.</p><p> </p><p>MJ watches him for a moment longer, her eyes narrowed, before walking to the car.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter can’t move. He can’t see. It’s black, the darkness heavy and oppressive, no matter how hard he tries to force his eyes to focus.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.” The voice is deep, vibrating through the ground beneath his feet. “So this is the child.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s breathing hitches. He could swear he sees something move in the blackness.</p><p> </p><p>“Finally old enough.” Something lands on his head, heavy, like a huge hand, and caresses it. “Your parents kept you hidden for so long.”</p><p> </p><p>He wants to scream, wants to run and fight and call for someone, but he’s stuck, frozen in place, unable to even turn his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m looking forward to meeting you.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter wakes up with a gasp. Ned is leaning over him, a concerned expression on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay? You were breathing weird.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? Um…” Peter rubs his face. “Yeah, I’m good. Bad dream. Did I wake you up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, it’s nearly breakfast time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, cool. Cool, I’ll be right there.” Peter reaches for his phone the second Ned closes the door and dials Mr Stark’s number.</p><p> </p><p>No one answers, so he tries Rhodey. Still nothing, but this time, he lets it go through to voicemail.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, um, are you guys okay? You didn’t answer, so…just wondering. Anyway, I, uh, had a really weird dream? And it might be nothing, but I don’t know – I just wanted to talk to you about it. Yeah, uh, call me back.” He hangs up and tosses his phone away, unable to shake the feeling of a huge hand resting on his head.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“So they were all dicks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Basically,” Rhodey says. “At least that’s something in common. Asshole men. Bullies.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony knocks on the door they’ve just reached. “Guess we’ll find out if the same is true about Mr O’Brien, then.” The door opens and he fixes a smile on his face as he raises his badge. “Hello, Mr Shaw? FBI. We just have a couple of questions about your late neighbour. Can we come in?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, sure.” Shaw opens the door wider, gesturing for them to come through. There’s a lizard on his shoulder. A damn lizard. Just sitting there. “Yeah, come on in. It was really sudden, that was. Very sad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you know Mr O’Brien well?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not at all. Guy barely left his house.” Shaw leads them into a living room and gestures to the couch. “Um, take a seat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, he was agoraphobic. Pretty much everything-phobic, actually. Dogs, children, the mailman. He used to get picked on in school for it. The only times I ever saw him would be when his mailbox piled up and I took it all to his door for him. The guy even got his groceries delivered.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see,” Tony says, “and how would you describe him, as a person?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, okay, I guess. Kinda nice, when he wasn’t squirting hand sanitiser at me.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey glances at Tony. “You wouldn’t call him, for example, controlling? Mean, maybe?”</p><p> </p><p>“No way.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of Tony’s eye. He looks, only to freeze in horror as a huge yellow snake slides out from under a cabinet at the side of the room.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, he was a nice guy. Ah, except for the last week before he died, actually. He was freaking out even more than usual. Barely answered the door. Kept all his shutters down. He was the one who called 911, actually. Not sure what about.”</p><p> </p><p>The snake slips closer. Tony barely stifles a squeak.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s very helpful, thank you,” Rhodey says, with a pointed glare in his direction.</p><p> </p><p>“And just before we go,” Tony says, hyper-aware of the snake sliding across the floor, “are there any weird stories around town? Violent murders, unexplained disappearances, local legends, that kind of thing?”</p><p> </p><p>The man shrugs. The reptile on his shoulder doesn’t even blink at the movement. “There’s the Garland guy. Disappeared about twenty years ago, and they never found a body. That’s all I can think of, sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Rhodey says. “Thanks for all your help.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony watches the snake’s tail slip out of view.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Tony, calm down. Did you even hear anything the man said?”</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down? What kind of a person lets a snake roam around his house?”</p><p> </p><p>“A harmless snake, man.”</p><p> </p><p>“He had an iguana on his shoulder!”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty sure it was a bearded dragon.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well, <em>that </em>makes it all better!”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Anyway, so according to Mr Shaw and his snakes, O’Brien was terrified of everything, and he started acting especially weirdly in the days leading up to his death.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, what he died of fear? Freaked out so hard he had a heart attack?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe. But he also said O’Brien had been bullied in high school, which doesn’t fit the pattern of our five other guys, because…”</p><p> </p><p>“They were all dicks. Yup.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. So either our ghost has changed its MO, or we’re dealing with more than one. So much for quick and easy, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Except he still had the woodchips in his arm, just like the rest.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Rhodey pulls out his phone, and the look of concern on his face makes Tony’s heart drop.</p><p> </p><p>“What? What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Did Peter try and call you?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony fumbles for his own cell. “Yeah. Yeah, like half an hour ago. Shit!”</p><p> </p><p>“He left me a voicemail – here, I’ll put it on speaker.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hey, um, are you guys okay? You didn’t answer, so…just wondering. Anyway, I, uh, had a really weird dream? And it might be nothing, but I don’t know – I just wanted to talk to you about it. Yeah, uh, call me back.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Call him!” Tony says loudly. “Now!”</p><p> </p><p>“He had a bad dream, Tony.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s <em>Peter</em>. You know there’s something different about him. Call him.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right, all right.” Rhodey does, and puts it on speaker again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hi!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, kid, just got your message. Everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p><em>“I, um, don’t know – one sec.” </em>There’s movement on the other end. <em>“Sorry, we were having breakfast – just came into Ned’s room. Um, yeah, it was weird.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” Tony says.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Oh, I’m on speaker. Hey. Uh, it was all dark, like, I couldn’t see anything. But I could feel that something was with me, and this voice – and it touched my head…” </em>Peter trails off.</p><p> </p><p>Tony frowns. “A voice? What did it say?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It said, uh, my parents hid me – no, they kept me hidden. And that I was finally old enough, and it couldn’t wait to meet me.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony can’t breathe. His own words are echoing back in his head. <em>It was here to collect him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He was right. He’s been right this whole fucking time: something wants Peter, something powerful enough to send him dreams, to frighten him. And they don’t have the first clue about what it might be, and Tony is terrified.</p><p> </p><p>“That, uh, sounds like something,” Rhodey says eventually. “Did it feel demonic? Or like a ghost, maybe?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I felt someone, for sure. Or something.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“A presence.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Yeah. It felt…so real.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The house is warded against demonic or evil energies, Tony realises. So are he and Rhodey. This is the first time since Peter came home with them that he’s been away from either for an extended period of time.</p><p> </p><p>“Did it hurt you?” Tony demands.</p><p> </p><p><em>“No, but it touched my head, and I could still feel it when I woke up.” </em>Peter pauses<em>. “Is this, like, a thing? Do you get these too?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Not really. When you get home, you’re gonna have two more presents. Essential for a hunter.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Should I be worried?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Well, one of them is a tattoo.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Awesome!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a protection sigil,” Rhodey says. “We both have one. Shouldn’t have let you go this long without it, kid. That’s our bad.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Still cool,” </em>Peter says.</p><p> </p><p>“The other’s just a charm, helps protect against witchcraft and sorcery. All that fun stuff.” Tony wishes Peter was here; just hearing his voice through the phone isn’t enough, somehow. “Don’t worry about it. In this job, you see and hear weird shit. Sometimes it means you have weird dreams. If it’s anything worse, then the protections will block it out.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Okay.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll be fine, kid. Dinner good last night?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“So good. Sorry, I should probably start getting ready to leave – we’re going to the New York Hall of Science, and Coney Island later.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Full day, huh? Enjoy yourself, kid. We’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Bye!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony listens to the phone beep and rests his head back against the seat. “Shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“We need to tell him,” Rhodey says. “It can’t go on like this. He deserves to know – he needs to know that it wasn’t just a dream, Tony. He needs to be ready to fight whatever this is.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Tony lets out a shaky breath. His heart is pounding in his ears. “I know, but – shit, Rhodey, he’s just a kid. Let him have his birthday. Let him get excited about science museums and crappy rollercoasters. One weekend.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right,” Rhodey says, “but don’t think for a damn second that, just because you have legal responsibility for that kid, you’re the only one who cares about him. If you don’t tell him, I will.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d expect nothing less.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey nods. “So: woodchips.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sawmill?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sawmill.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I have never seen a more haunted place in my life,” Tony announces, “and I actively seek out haunted places on a weekly basis.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s abandoned, Tony. That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Creepy,” Tony mutters, stuffing his gun into its holster. And a knife, just in case. And a torch. “How long’s it been abandoned?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, about twenty years.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Any accidents we should know about? Unexplained deaths?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who found this case?” Rhodey says. “You did. And how much research did you do? Fuck all, apparently.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony sighs and starts towards the looming building, one hand on his gun.</p><p> </p><p>“You jumpy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just, um, got a bad feeling.”</p><p> </p><p>“That thing with the kid really rattled you, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, no shit.” They reach the door, heavy and rusted. It takes at least a minute for both of them to wrestle it open, the screech of rusted metal echoing around the empty lot. “Well, if anything’s here, we definitely let it know we are, too.”</p><p> </p><p>They step inside, torches raised. Dust coats every surface, puffs up from the floor in little clouds with every step they take. Cobwebs hang from the walls and the roof, long since abandoned.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice,” Rhodey says, his voice echoing. There are machines still on the factory floor, towering above them and casting long shadows that shift as they move their torches. Every little movement out of the corner of Tony’s eye makes him start; he’s jumpier than a kid in a haunted house on Hallowe’en.</p><p> </p><p>He gestures for Rhodey to follow him around the edge of the main floor, both of them on alert, only to freeze when he hears a rustle from behind a door in the corner. “Hey, you hear that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Rhodey whispers, raising his gun. “Looks like an office or something. I’m right behind you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Yeah. Uh-huh.” Tony clears his throat and starts forward, hand clenched around his flashlight. He reaches for the handle and throws the door open, expecting to see a figure lunging for him. Nothing, except a grimy desk and a row of lockers in the corner. “Okay…”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a thump from one of the lockers. With a glance at him, Rhodey starts towards it, hands ready on the door. Tony nods, heart racing, and aims his gun. Rhodey flings the locker open.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Mrow!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony <em>screams</em>. Honest-to-God, high-pitched screaming. The cat yowls in response and leaps down, weaving through their legs and making Tony shriek again. It’s only when the cat darts out of the open door with a final indignant <em>meow </em>that he manages to stop, staggering over to sit heavily on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude!”</p><p> </p><p>Tony wheezes.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“That was…” He waves a hand. “That was <em>scary</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey shakes his head. There’s a beat of silence, before a screech of metal erupts from outside the door. They bolt out of the office, guns raised, and find one of the machines, a crane-like arm, moving back and forth.</p><p> </p><p>“The hell…?” Rhodey breathes.</p><p> </p><p>“Nope,” Tony says, backing towards the main door. “No, thank you. Time to go. <em>So </em>time to go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait.” Rhodey grasps his arm. “Look.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony follows his gaze to a shadowy corner of the mile, behind an old pile of half-rotted pallets; a figure is lurking, huge, sinister. Malice rolls off it in thick waves.</p><p> </p><p>“Think we found our ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, really?” Tony snaps.</p><p> </p><p>The figure moves, lurches forward with an inarticulate roar, and Rhodey fires a round without hesitation. The shape dissolves into thin air, so Tony takes the opportunity to book it back to the car, feet slapping against the floor, breaths coming hard and fast. He slows once he’s out of the mill, but still can’t shake the feeling that something is just behind him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to find out who that could be,” Rhodey says when they reach the car, both gasping for breath. “Need to – to find out what might have happened, and where they’re buried.”</p><p> </p><p>“Salt and burn,” Tony agrees. “See? Told you we’d be done by tomorrow–“</p><p> </p><p>He breaks off at the roar of an engine, a screech of tyres. A car swerves around the building and into the abandoned parking lot – but translucent, not quite there. As it gets closer, they can hear a panicked scream, a chain rattling, and suddenly there’s a body behind the car, being dragged in its wake.</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey grabs Tony’s wrist in a vice grip. The image fades away like it was never there, and the haunting screams fall silent.</p><p> </p><p>“A death echo,” Rhodey says, his voice hushed. “He died – shit, someone killed him. That has to be that Garland guy Shaw told us about, right? He didn’t just disappear; he was <em>murdered</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“So…” Tony takes a deep breath, wills his racing heart to slow down. “So who was driving the car?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Agents,” the sheriff says, “come on in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, Sheriff Hutchins,” Tony says.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a problem, not a problem. You’re here about O’Brien, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yessir. According to his neighbour, he made a 911 call before he died, is that right?”</p><p> </p><p>“It is. I have a transcript somewhere, if you want to look at it.” Hutchins gets up and starts to look through a filing cabinet in the corner of his office.</p><p> </p><p>“That would be helpful, thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a whole lot of nothing, though. The guy was yelling about…monsters. Said they were in his house. He sounded terrified, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>“Monsters, huh?” Rhodey says. “I had a look at his autopsy – toxicology came back clean. Not even traces of alcohol.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, the theory goes that the cardiac event cut off oxygen to the brain, causing hallucinations.” The sheriff shakes his head, holding a folder out to Tony. “Load of crap, if you ask me. Never heard of a heart attack doing that before.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Tony agrees, “and there was nothing in the post-mortem to suggest that, either.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause before Rhodey leans over and takes the file. “Thanks. We’ll take a look at this.”</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff nods. “Anything else I can help you with, agents?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe a cold case. Does the name Garland mean anything to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Luther Garland?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony nods. “Disappeared about twenty years ago. No body found, is that right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Hutchins gets up. “I’ll just send someone over to filing.” He pokes his head out of his door and calls out something to the office. “I was only an officer when it happened, of course. Beat cop.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“I remember Garland, though. Think Lenny in <em>Of Mice and Men</em>. Huge, scary-looking guy, but not a bad bone anywhere in his body.” Someone knocks on the door and passed a second folder to Rhodey at Hutchins’s gesture. “Thank you, Michaels. He was kind of an outcast. Used to work down at the mill, before it was shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey taps his thumb on the page twice, a sign he’s found something. Tony clears his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you again, Sheriff. We’ll get these files right back to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No problem. I’ll see you soon, agents.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for your time,” Rhodey says.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“All five of them, Tones. All five of the first guys who died were arrested and questioned in relation to Garland’s disappearance, but the evidence was only circumstantial. They had to close the case, and no one was ever charged. What if Luther’s out getting revenge now?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony tries to focus on the road, checking his mirrors every few seconds. “But what about O’Brien?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s an outlier,” Rhodey admits, “but if the first five really were responsible for killing Garland, maybe he’s a ghost that runs on fear. He frightened his victims so much they had heart attacks, just like his death, which was terrifying.” Rhodey slaps the folder in his lap, loud enough to make Tony jump. “Boom.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony,” Rhodey says sharply, “Tones, that was our hotel.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not making a left turn into oncoming traffic, Rhodey. That’s idiotic.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m driving around the block.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey stares at him for a long moment. “Have you suddenly decided to become a responsible driver now the kid’s gonna get his learner’s permit? Is that what this is?”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding?” Tony squawks. “I can’t let him in a car! My dad died in a car, Rhodey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tones…” Rhodey’s voice is suddenly gentle. “Your dad was killed in a parked car. Nothing to do with learner drivers or turning into traffic.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony turns into the hotel parking lot, finding a space with no other cars surrounding it and inching in. Rhodey looks ready to brain him on the steering wheel.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t be too careful.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, let’s just get inside. What do you want to eat? I think I saw a taco truck back there.”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Tony yelps. “No tacos. You’re <em>gassy</em>, man. One burrito and you get <em>toxic</em>. I’m not sharing a room with that. God, this is stupid. Why are we here?”</p><p> </p><p>“…’cause you found a case.”</p><p> </p><p>“And why do we do this, huh? We drive around looking for things that want to kill us! And now we have a kid! All of us are in danger, all the time! It’s insane!”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey presses his lips together. “Out of the car.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Inside. Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>“What are you–? Okay, I’m going, I’m going.” Tony climbs out at Rhodey’s insistent gesture and starts towards the hotel reception. “God, at least we got a room on the ground floor – imagine being up there.” He points upwards. “High.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus.” Rhodey grasps him by the elbow and doesn’t let go until they’re in their room, door locked behind them. “Show me your left arm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay…” Tony rolls his sleeve up with a frown. “Oh, shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a strange marking in the crease of his elbow, an irritated discolouration, an angry red with chips of wood embedded in the skin.</p><p> </p><p>‘I have…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“The ghost–“</p><p> </p><p>“Yup.”</p><p> </p><p>“But…I’m not a dick!”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey smirks. “Well…”</p><p> </p><p>“Not like them.” Tony pauses. “Oh, God, am I? Do you hate me?”</p><p> </p><p>“No! No, I was kidding. You’re not a dick.” Rhodey snaps his fingers. “And neither was O’Brien, but he was afraid of everything. When did you start feeling like this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…” Tony tries to remember. “When Peter called, maybe?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, you freaked out. Maybe…that let the fear in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Rhodey, <em>what</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, it sounds stupid, but you’re not a bully, so you must be an O’Brien.”</p><p> </p><p>“The man was a hypochondriac! He freaked out so much he gave himself a heart attack!”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re a father freaking out about his kid!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, God,” Tony groans. “Something <em>wants </em>him, Rhodey.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t even deny he’s your kid anymore. Look, our ghost ran out of targets; he finished what he stayed here to do. So now he’s changed his MO. Makes sense, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why’s he stayed?”</p><p> </p><p>“No body. No bones to burn. Unsolved case. Maybe he <em>can’t</em>move on.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony glances down at his arm, red angry marks and chips of wood. “Better figure out a way to help him, then.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Peter.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Rhodey?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Look, kid, I know it’s late, but can you get to a bus station? I need you to get out to Wayne, New Jersey, like, ASAP.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What’s happened?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I need to kill this ghost, and Tony’s pretty much useless at this point, but if I don’t…”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Peter sits up. “Rhodey, what?”</p><p> </p><p><em>“It’s gonna kill him,” </em>Rhodey says shortly. <em>“I need you here today, kid.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m coming. I can get a bus.” Peter pulls his backpack out from under the bed, ignoring Ned’s questioning look. “Is he doing okay?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“As okay as he can. I think seeing you will help, too.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, okay, I, uh…I’ll see you soon.” Peter hangs up. “Ned, I’m sorry – I gotta go.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Ned pushes his laptop to the side. “Go – where? What’s happening?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uhh.” Peter shoves his pyjamas in his bag. “Family emergency. Really sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit. Is everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, should be fine – um, Mr Stark has broken his leg, and Rhodey needs me back to help him out. There should still be buses running, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“You mean right now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, um…” Ned looks around. “Do you have enough money? Or snacks? Are you sure you can’t wait until the morning–?”</p><p> </p><p>“Very sure,” Peter says sharply. “I can get to the bus station by myself, don’t worry. Um, are your parents still up? I wanna say sorry – and thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, probably. Oh! Don’t forget your Lego set – here’s the bag it came in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Peter says. “I really am so sorry, man. I just – gotta go. I’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter spares the room one last glance – the room he’d spent half his childhood in – and nods.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Kid!” Rhodey waves him over from across the parking lot.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi!” Peter jogs over. “Where’s, um, where’s Mr Stark?”</p><p> </p><p>“In the hotel room,” Rhodey says. “He’s currently scared of cars. Of course, by the time we get back there, he might also be scared of lamps, or bedposts, or the shitty abstract art on the walls.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ghosts are just…imprints,” Rhodey says as they climb into the car. “They’re echoes, usually frozen in the moment of their death. Of course, there’s a lot of emotion tied to that moment, and it’s different for all of them. Vengeful spirits had an unjust or violent death, so all they feel is anger. For some ghosts, they’re trapped in fear.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“The ghost we were tracking down – he scares his victims to death, basically. Infects them with fear, which intensifies to the point they had heart attacks. Once he worked his way through the guys responsible for his death, he found someone who was afraid of practically everything and – I don’t know, used the fear against him or something.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter swallows. “You’re not saying Mr Stark is…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Rhodey presses his lips together and pulls out of the parking space. “It’s infected him, so we need to move.”</p><p> </p><p>“But – Mr Stark is, like, the bravest guy I’ve ever met,” Peter says, with a half-smile. “What does he have to be afraid of?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey doesn’t answer.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tony sits cross-legged on the bed, glaring at the TV. Electronics are so stupid – they could spark at any time, catch fire, send the whole hotel up in smoke. Do the windows open wide enough for him to get out if he can’t reach the door in time? What if it violently explodes?</p><p> </p><p>“Mr Stark?”</p><p> </p><p>He spins around, jumping in shock when he sees Peter. “Kid? When did you get here?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been here the whole time,” Peter says, tilting his head to the side. “Are you feeling okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony isn’t. He isn’t feeling okay. Oh, God, what if he’s dying?</p><p> </p><p>Peter cries out suddenly, shaking one leg as if he’s trying to throw something off, break its grip, but whatever has a hold on him drags him to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Tony gasps, lunging for him, but Peter starts sliding across the floor as if he’s being dragged by his ankles, and Tony has to crawl frantically to keep up.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr Stark!” Peter wails, reaching for him, scrabbling at the carpet. “Don’t let it take me – please, Mr Stark, don’t let it–“</p><p> </p><p>“I got you!” Tony grabs one of his wrists and holds tight. The invisible force is strong, but the look of terror on Peter’s face just fuels Tony’s determination.</p><p> </p><p>“Help me!” Peter cries, and in the next second, he’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>“Peter?” Tony reaches out, fingers brushing the space where his kid had just been. “Peter! Kid!”</p><p> </p><p>He’s gone. Peter’s gone. Tony couldn’t save him. His heart thuds against his ribcage.</p><p> </p><p>His cell phone chimes in his pocket, suddenly enough that he jolts, and he opens it to see a text from Rhodey.</p><p> </p><p><strong> <em>Rhodey</em> </strong> <em>: Got the kid, we’re heading to the mill now. Hang in there.</em></p><p> </p><p>How can Peter be with Rhodey when Tony just watched him disappear, just let the invisible monster take him?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You failed him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony groans and starts to clamber to his feet – his hands are trembling around his phone – but stops when he sees the shape on the other side of the room. A body, lying on its back – familiar brown hair–</p><p> </p><p>“Peter?” He scrambles over and falls to his knees, cupping the kid’s face in his hands. He’s cold, too cold. “Peter, you need to wake up. Now. That’s an order, kid. Wake up – wake up!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He can’t. You didn’t catch the shtriga in time.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Tony mumbles, and pushes Peter’s hair off his forehead, taps his cheeks. “No, I – we got it. You’re safe. You need to wake up now, you hear me? You need to wake up.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Rhodey, I really don’t like this.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Rhodey winces. “I wish there was another way, but…”</p><p> </p><p>“The way he died was <em>awful</em>, and now we have to do it again?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, kid. Just remember: ghosts are only echoes. It’s this, or he stays trapped forever, and we lose Tony.”</p><p> </p><p>They have to do this, for Mr Stark if nothing else. “Fine. Just don’t let it kill me.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey actually laughs. “Kid, Tony would come back from the dead and gut me. Okay, so we saw the death echo outside – right here – but the actual ghost was inside. We need to get his attention somehow.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter glances around the deserted floor, before his eyes fall on the machine in the middle of the floor. “What about that?”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey understands instantly. “You think it’ll still work? Been twenty years.”</p><p> </p><p>“Only one way to find out.”</p><p> </p><p>The saw roars to life instantly, the conveyor belt juddering as it starts to move.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm, <em>Miserable Mill </em>vibes,” Peter says, half to himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Feel like you just made another reference that no one understands.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you’ve never read those books!”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey shrugs and lifts his shotgun. “This is full of rock salt, okay? If it’s getting too close for comfort, I’ll unload a couple of shots and it should dispel him for a minute.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Go get his attention. I’ll be right behind you. You remember what I told you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kinda.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’ll have to do.” Rhodey shifts his arm, rattling the length of chain he’d slung over his shoulder. The markings carved into the metal look strange in the dim light.</p><p> </p><p>The saw’s roar is close to deafening when Peter moves closer to it, but there’s still no sign of anyone except him and Rhodey. He spots a red button on the wall and inches closer, meets Rhodey’s eyes. The man nods, so he slams his palm down.</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence follows, and then the alarm blares, a shrill piercing sound.</p><p> </p><p>“Think we got his attention?” Peter yells.</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey starts to grin, but his face drops. “Kid–!”</p><p> </p><p>Something grabs Peter around the neck, yanking him backwards and slamming him into the floor. Peter’s hand flies to his knife sheath, but his arms are pinned; he tries to twist, to throw off the weight that’s suddenly holding him down.</p><p> </p><p>“Peter, go!” Rhodey yells, and he’s free, chains clanking in his ears. Peter rolls over, gasping for breath, and scrambles to his feet. He bolts past Rhodey and Garland wrestling on the ground and clambers into the driver’s seat.</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey yells something indecipherable. The ghost yells something back. The alarm is still screaming in the background, almost drowning out the saw. Peter turns the key, barely stifling a yelp when the car roars to life.</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey slams a palm on the back window. “Peter, drive!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit shit shit,” Peter breathes. “Okay, clutch in. Gear shift. Clutch out and gas–“</p><p> </p><p>The car shoots forward.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God!”</p><p> </p><p>He can hear the ghost roaring behind him, but it quickly becomes a scream.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Peter whispers, “sorry, sorry.” He blinks tears out of his eyes just in time to see a Dumpster in front of him. “Oh, <em>shit</em>–!”</p><p> </p><p>He yanks the wheel to the right and the car skids. Something crashes into the Dumpster.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re still there?” Peter yells. “Come on!”</p><p> </p><p>Another swerve and he’s heading back towards the mill. He can see Rhodey still standing in the door, his hands on his head, and it’s at that moment that Peter realises he’s terrible terrible driver.</p><p> </p><p>The screams abruptly cut off; Peter chances a look in the rear view mirror. Empty chain dragging on the ground. No ghost.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit,” he breathes out, and eases off the gas. The car slows, rolls to a stop in front of the mill. Peter stumbles out and meets Rhodey’s eyes. They’re both breathing hard. “How was that for a test drive?”</p><p> </p><p>“You…” Rhodey wheezes. “You need many lessons. Many many lessons.”</p><p> </p><p>“But it worked?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think it worked. Couldn’t really see, with you weaving all over the place. He might have just tapped out and given you one star on Uber.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter laughs, breathless, hysterical, and leans on the car. Rhodey pulls out his phone.</p><p> </p><p>It rings and rings.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Peter,” Tony sobs, “Peter, wake up, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s eyes stare lifelessly at the ceiling. There’s so much blood – Tony didn’t think such a small body could hold so much.</p><p> </p><p><em>You didn’t save him</em>, a voice hisses. <em>You couldn’t</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“No…”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You never told him why. You lied to him, kept the truth from him, and he died because of it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–“</p><p> </p><p>“Mr Stark,” Peter’s voice whimpers. His eyes are suddenly fixed on Tony. “Why did you let this happen?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m – Peter, I didn’t–“</p><p> </p><p>“No, you didn’t. You didn’t save me.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony cries out, pitching forward.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Everyone dies. Your parents, your son, your friends.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When he looks up again, it’s not just Peter’s corpse, but Rhodey, Pepper, his mom, his dad.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Always a disappointment, Anthony.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Mr Stark, help me, please!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Tones? Tony!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Tony? Honey, help!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony gasps and clutches at his chest. He can’t breathe, he can’t <em>think</em>–</p><p> </p><p>In the span of a heartbeat, everything goes quiet. No pulse pounding in his ears, no broken bodies in front of him, no snarling voices.</p><p> </p><p>His phone rings.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Pick up,” Rhodey mutters, pacing further and further away. “Pick up, you damn idiot.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter bounces on the spot.</p><p> </p><p>“Tony? Hey, man, you okay? Breathe, Tones, breathe – yeah, we got it just in time, from the sound of it.”</p><p> </p><p><em>He’s okay</em>. Peter almost doubles over in relief.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, he’s right here.” Rhodey thrusts the phone at him.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Pete?” </em>Mr Stark sounds awful.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Mr Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Is everything – are you okay?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, I promise.” Peter doesn’t want to think about what Mr Stark might have seen, if he sounds this wrecked. “Are – are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I’ll get there. Uh, how was your weekend?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Are you serious?” Peter laughs. “You’re asking how my weekend was?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Yes?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey shakes his head. “Tell him we’ll head right back.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re heading back, Mr Stark. I’ll see you soon.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“See you soon, kid. Love you.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Okay</em>. “Love you too, Mr Stark.” Peter hands the phone back to Rhodey, deliberately avoiding his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we’ll be – as in, walking to the car right now, Tones. Like, ten minutes. Yeah, that is soon. I told you. Yeah, see you in a bit. I love you, you dumbass. Don’t do that to me again.” Rhodey hangs up just as they reach the car. “God, that was too close.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for the help, kid. Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad you called me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad he has you.” Rhodey sighs as he starts the engine. “God knows that idiot needs more people.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tony’s still sitting the same spot when the door opens and Rhodey and Peter spill into the room. No matter how long he stares at the carpet beneath him, he can’t unsee the blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” Rhodey crouches next to him, takes his face in his hands. “You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Tony manages, “yeah, ‘m good.”</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey searches his face for a moment longer before clapping him on the shoulder and standing back up. Peter takes his place.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, buddy,” Tony says.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi.” Peter looks just as concerned as Rhodey, if not more so. “How are you? Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine. Whatever was wrong with me, it’s gone. Sorted.” Except his brain won’t stop superimposing the image of Peter dead, bleeding out on the floor, over the image of Peter in front of him. He reaches out and runs a shaky hand over the kid’s cheek, traces the line of his jaw, just to be sure. “Sorry about your birthday, kid. I know you were excited to see your friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter smirks. “Well, I got my first driving lesson out of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>what</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“More of a, uh, crash course,” Rhodey says. “Emphasis on crash.”</p><p> </p><p>“In my car?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, there’s Tony,” Rhodey mutters. “Back to normal.”</p><p> </p><p>“There better not be a scratch on it,” Tony warns him.</p><p> </p><p>Rhodey wrinkles his nose. “Scratches, no. Ectoplasm, highly likely.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck’s <em>sake</em>.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter plops down on the couch beside Mr Stark, a wide grin on his face. The man doesn’t even glance at him. Peter keeps smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Mr Stark grunts. “I can <em>feel</em> your smugness.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Success</em>. Peter holds up one of the books they’d given him for his birthday. “I was just reading about Buruburus. It says here that they’re ghosts born of a terrifying death. Apparently, they can infect people with their fear, to the point of killing them. It’s called ghost sickness. That might’ve been good to know before you took that case.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr Stark sighs, but guilt is creeping into his expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Also says they can be afraid of moving on and resting. Explains why he kept killing people after he resolved his own murder.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kid…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! And they can be killed by either re-enacting their death, or by scaring them so badly it forces them to dissipate permanently. Good thing Rhodey and I did that, right? We were flying kinda blind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, point made, buddy.” Mr Stark finally looks at him.  “You gonna let this go any time soon? It’s been a week.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just making sure you’re aware that you were an idiot.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. In my defence, I was bored.”</p><p> </p><p>“You did, like, no research! You’re setting a bad example for me, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter closes the book with a gentle thump and puts it on the coffee table. “I don’t remember May and Ben arguing a lot, but there was once – I was five, maybe. I’d only been with them for a year, after my parents…anyway, Ben was a firefighter, and he used to take all the dangerous rescues. First in, last out, that kinda thing. I remember he came in one night, late, and May just <em>screamed </em>at him. ‘You don’t get to do this anymore,’ she said. ‘We have a kid now.’” He can feel Mr Stark watching him intently, so he looks at the floor avoid his gaze. “You and Rhodey – you’re all I have now, and I know I could probably fend for myself for the next two years, but I don’t want to lose another family. Like, I know what we do is dangerous, but you’ve nearly died twice in the space of a couple months, and I…”</p><p> </p><p>Mr Stark puts an arm around Peter’s shoulders and squeezes. “You’re right. You’re right that this is dangerous. But you’re right that I’ve had more than my share of near-death experiences recently. I can’t tell you why. There’s been…more monsters lately. Like they’re stepping it up.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter frowns. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“So it’s nothing to do with me?”</p><p> </p><p>Mr Stark’s head whips around. “Why would it be?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter recoils at his sharp tone. “I don’t know, just like…you’re getting used to me being around and it’s thrown you off your rhythm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Mr Stark relaxes. “No. Nothing to do with you, buddy. Don’t worry. It’s just a rough patch, all right? We’ll get through it.” He grins. “We’ve got an extra pair of hands, now. Hey, speaking of your uncle, you never told me what happened. Was it a firefighter thing, or…?”</p><p> </p><p>He often wonders about the conversation he’d overheard in the car – Mr Stark’s voice quivering as he talked about something coming, maybe coming for <em>them </em>– but Peter doesn’t want to dive into it now, so he sighs and lets Mr Stark change the subject. “No, it was, uh…I was a <em>teenager</em>, to put it lightly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Teenagers are going through stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I was definitely going through stuff. School was a lot, and people there were being shitty. We had a fight, and I ran out of the apartment – Ben came out to look for me. There was a robbery in our closest corner store - he was checking there in case I’d gone to get a snack or something – and the guy had a gun…” Peter trails off. Mr Stark’s arm tightens around his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, Pete.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“So I hate guns,” Peter says simply, “and I hate when I think I might lose someone. I can’t  - <em>can’t </em>do that again, Mr Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Mr Stark says. “But hey, you and Rhodey saved my <em>ass</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter smirks. “Yeah, we did.”</p><p> </p><p>“If Rhodey lets you in my car again, I’ll kill him.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter is so affronted he can barely manage a response. “What was he supposed to do? We had to leave the spare car in White Lake because you couldn’t drive!”</p><p> </p><p>“Convenient for you, wasn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God, shut up,” Peter mutters, but rests his head on Mr Stark’s shoulder. “Please, master of all things automobile, will you teach me how to command your vehicle?”</p><p> </p><p>“You are one weird kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Been spending too much time with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“And apparently hitting sixteen made you disrespectful. Can I ground you? Where’s Rhodey when I need to make parenting decisions like this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Being the fun uncle.”</p><p> </p><p>“Little shit,” Mr Stark says with no small amount of fondness. “Okay, pick what you want for dinner and I might let you drive there. Maybe even back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes!”</p><p> </p><p>“No pizza.”</p><p> </p><p>“Please?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“I killed a ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome to the party.”</p><p> </p><p>“Saved your life.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr Stark groans, the sound of a man who knows he’s defeated. “Fine.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there is in fact a sawmill in wayne, nj. that gives you some kind of idea of what i was doing instead of actually writing this</p><p>in the interest of transparency: when i wrote this, ben was spoken about as a cop in the last section. he's now a firefighter.</p><p>i hope all of you are safe and well, and washing your hands!</p><p>i'm on tumblr @akillerqueenwrites, or my main blog @akillerqueenyouare. come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, @killerqueenao3, if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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